ice. Was it thus that Fhoi Myore built their roads across the sea, needing no ships? Was this ice their version of a bridge? Or did they know that Goffanon and Corum came this way and seek to thwart their progress?
They would know soon, thought Corum as he crouched beside the boat and watched. The Fhoi Myore and their minions were moving from East to West, in the same direction as Corum and Goffanon but at a slightly different angle. In the dim distance Corum saw dark shapes riding and marching and sniffed the familiar scent of pines, saw the bulky shapes of Fhoi Myore chariot-riders, and once he glimpsed the flickering armor of one who could only be Gay nor. And now he began to realize that the Fhoi Myore marched not against Caer Mahlod at all but most likely against Caer Garanhir, their own destination. And if the Fhoi Myore reached Caer Garanhir before them, the chances of finding the Oak and the Ram were very poor.
"Garanhir," muttered Goffanon, "they go to Garanhir."
' 'Aye," said Corum despairingly, "and we have no choice now but to follow behind them, then hope to overtake them when they reach the land. We must warn Garanhir if we can. We must warn King Daffyn, Goffanon!"
Goffanon shrugged his massive shoulders and tugged at his shaggy black beard and rubbed his nose. Then he spread his left hand and raised his double-headed war-axe in his right hand and smiled. "Indeed, we must," he said.
They were thankful that the Hounds of Kerenos did not run with the Fhoi Myore army. These, doubtless, still scoured the countryside about Craig Don, looking for the three friends and Amergin. They would have had no chance at all of avoiding detection if those dogs had been present. Moving warily, Corum and Goffanon skulked in the wake of the Fhoi Myore, peering ahead in the hope that they would soon sight the land. The going was difficult, for the waves had formed small hills and dangerous ruts in the frozen sea.
They were exhausted by the time they witnessed the landing of the Fhoi Myore and the People of the Pines on shores which had, an hour since, been green and lush and now were suddenly ice-covered and dead.
And the sea began to melt as the Fhoi Myore passed and Corum and Goffanon found themselves wading through water which was still freezing and which rose to Corum's chin and Goffanon's chest.
And, as he stumbled up the frosty beach, his throat choked with a mixture of sea and mist, Corum felt himself seized, weapons and all, about the waist and he was moving headlong up a hillside, borne by Goffanon who was wasting no time, running easily with Corum under one arm, his beard and hair flying in the wind, his greaves and his armor rattling on his massive body, apparently in no way slowed by his burden.
Corum's ribs ached but he managed to remark: "You are a most useful dwarf, Goffanon. I am amazed at the energy possessed by one of such small stature as yourself."
"I suppose I compensate for my shortness by cultivating stamina,’’ said Goffanon seriously.
Two hours later and they were well ahead of the Fhoi Myore force. They sat in a dip in the ground, enjoying the smell of grass and wild flowers, knowing miserably that it would not be long before these became rigid with cold and died. Perhaps that was why Corum relished the smell of the vegetation while it was still there.
Goffanon let out a great sigh as, tenderly, without picking the plant, he looked at a wild poppy. "The Mabden lands are amongst the prettiest in this whole Realm," he said. ‘ 'And now these perish, as all the other lands have perished. Conquered by the Fhoi Myore."
"What of the other lands in this Realm?'‘ Corum asked. "What know you of them?'‘
"Long-since turned to poisoned ice by the diseased remnants of the Fhoi Myore race," Goffanon said. "These lands were safe partly because the Fhoi Myore remembered Craig Don and avoided the place, partly because this is where the surviving Sidhi made their homes. It took them a considerable length
They would know soon, thought Corum as he crouched beside the boat and watched. The Fhoi Myore and their minions were moving from East to West, in the same direction as Corum and Goffanon but at a slightly different angle. In the dim distance Corum saw dark shapes riding and marching and sniffed the familiar scent of pines, saw the bulky shapes of Fhoi Myore chariot-riders, and once he glimpsed the flickering armor of one who could only be Gay nor. And now he began to realize that the Fhoi Myore marched not against Caer Mahlod at all but most likely against Caer Garanhir, their own destination. And if the Fhoi Myore reached Caer Garanhir before them, the chances of finding the Oak and the Ram were very poor.
"Garanhir," muttered Goffanon, "they go to Garanhir."
' 'Aye," said Corum despairingly, "and we have no choice now but to follow behind them, then hope to overtake them when they reach the land. We must warn Garanhir if we can. We must warn King Daffyn, Goffanon!"
Goffanon shrugged his massive shoulders and tugged at his shaggy black beard and rubbed his nose. Then he spread his left hand and raised his double-headed war-axe in his right hand and smiled. "Indeed, we must," he said.
They were thankful that the Hounds of Kerenos did not run with the Fhoi Myore army. These, doubtless, still scoured the countryside about Craig Don, looking for the three friends and Amergin. They would have had no chance at all of avoiding detection if those dogs had been present. Moving warily, Corum and Goffanon skulked in the wake of the Fhoi Myore, peering ahead in the hope that they would soon sight the land. The going was difficult, for the waves had formed small hills and dangerous ruts in the frozen sea.
They were exhausted by the time they witnessed the landing of the Fhoi Myore and the People of the Pines on shores which had, an hour since, been green and lush and now were suddenly ice-covered and dead.
And the sea began to melt as the Fhoi Myore passed and Corum and Goffanon found themselves wading through water which was still freezing and which rose to Corum's chin and Goffanon's chest.
And, as he stumbled up the frosty beach, his throat choked with a mixture of sea and mist, Corum felt himself seized, weapons and all, about the waist and he was moving headlong up a hillside, borne by Goffanon who was wasting no time, running easily with Corum under one arm, his beard and hair flying in the wind, his greaves and his armor rattling on his massive body, apparently in no way slowed by his burden.
Corum's ribs ached but he managed to remark: "You are a most useful dwarf, Goffanon. I am amazed at the energy possessed by one of such small stature as yourself."
"I suppose I compensate for my shortness by cultivating stamina,’’ said Goffanon seriously.
Two hours later and they were well ahead of the Fhoi Myore force. They sat in a dip in the ground, enjoying the smell of grass and wild flowers, knowing miserably that it would not be long before these became rigid with cold and died. Perhaps that was why Corum relished the smell of the vegetation while it was still there.
Goffanon let out a great sigh as, tenderly, without picking the plant, he looked at a wild poppy. "The Mabden lands are amongst the prettiest in this whole Realm," he said. ‘ 'And now these perish, as all the other lands have perished. Conquered by the Fhoi Myore."
"What of the other lands in this Realm?'‘ Corum asked. "What know you of them?'‘
"Long-since turned to poisoned ice by the diseased remnants of the Fhoi Myore race," Goffanon said. "These lands were safe partly because the Fhoi Myore remembered Craig Don and avoided the place, partly because this is where the surviving Sidhi made their homes. It took them a considerable length
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